


The Opening of the Heart

by Chocoholic221B



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Don't Like Don't Read, F/F, F/M, Fem Kurapika, Fem!Gon, Kurapika is my precious daughter i will fite u, M/M, Romance, back when i read to many fem fics, haha - Freeform, more romance, repost and edit of a fic of the same name on fanfiction.net, the angst, yes the title sounds like open heart surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18285170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B
Summary: Technically School AU, but it'll eventually meet up with the actual storyline in the sequels. Gon & co. are accepted into an academy run by Netero. Chaos ensues in the form of possessive older brothers, Hisokas, Chrollos, romance, and that one guy who keeps trying to kill Kurapika. KuroKura and KilluGon. One-sided KuraNeon. HisoIllu. Fem!Kura and Fem!Gon.





	1. strings are cast

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So, this is the first fic I ever wrote and the closest to being canon compliant. Oddly enough, it's also a fem Pika and fem Gon fic, which is controversial to say the least. I guess part of me feels like there should've been more female characters in HxH. Plus, there are so many awful interpretations of fem Pika that I thought I might as well share mine as well.

**(A/N: Whale Island is in New Zealand. Gon and Killua are 14. Kurapika and Leorio are 18 and 19. Also, 𝔍 = jenny.)**

The Opening of the Heart:

One:

strings are cast

With a hand clasped around a convenient branch and fragrant leaves tickling her chin, Gon swung closer to the rimu fruit. It was a strange looking food, resembling a cross between a pinecone and a raspberry. Gon had tried one before and found them almost unbearably sour and not much else, but for her kakapo friend, it seemed like a gift from the food gods themselves.

"Got it!" she announced, triumphantly, holding out the bundle she'd grabbed. The kakapo croaked happily on the ground, its sharp claws making punctures in the grass as it hopped around with all the grace a flightless bird could muster. Gon's teeth flashed, as she jumped to a branch closer to the ground, catching leaves and twigs in her thick, dark green hair along the way. She landed with ease before the kakapo, who, with a chirp resembling a thank you, took hold of its newly prepared meal.

Her back pressed against the tree trunk, the excitement seeping out. The kakapo's head tilted to -the side, and Gon smiled at the gesture.

"You're going to have to get it yourself from now on," she said, hands clasped behind her back. On the ground, her boot started kicking at grass. "I'll ask Kon to help you." Then again, she wasn't sure how a huge fox bear was going to make it up a rimu tree. "Or one of the birds."

The kakapo squawked, its beak tearing at the fruit's red flesh.

She tugged on the ends of her hair. "I wonder what Aunt Mito will say."

The kakapo squawked again. Above, the sun was setting, orange and purple peeking through swaths of green and brown.

"I should probably be getting home."

Gon pushed off the tree, scratching the back of her neck. She waved to the kakapo, and then slowly made her way back home through tangled trees and hidden undergrowth, skipping over a stream here and there. The path was so familiar that her thoughts traveled elsewhere.

_Dear Ms. Freecss,_

_I am delighted to inform you that the Office of Admissions has admitted you to the Class of 1999 under the Ancestry Program. Please accept my congratulations on behalf of all our staff._

_As stated in our Ancestry Program, you will receive a financial reward of 𝔍 100,000,000. This financial reward will cover both tuition and room and board. We look forward to meeting you this September. In the meantime, be sure to stay up to date on upcoming deadlines and events through the Admissions website._

_Thank you,_

_Mr. Beans._

Seikatsu Academy was located all the way in the United States of Saherta. It was also the only way to become a Hunter. Neither of those things appealed to Aunt Mito. It wouldn't matter in the long run. Gon would go to the Academy either way. Even so, Aunt Mito was important to her and having her worry would make Gon uneasy.

The trees began to thin out, and Gon was beginning to make out the pale stone of her home. The lights had been left on to fight off the encroaching darkness. The remnants of the sun's rays still hung in the sky, dangling by imaginary threads. Aunt Mito stood in the kitchen window with a practical apron tied around her. Gon took the pebble road up to the house, the scent of her grandmother's wisterias mixing in with the summer wind. The tiny rocks crunched under her green boots and then went silent, as she came to a stop in front of the door.

She clasped the iron handle of the door. It was one of those that resembled the ear of a teacup, though hardly as fun as the metaphor might make it seem.

"I'm home!" Gon said, stepping inside. It was cooler than outside, even though most of the sweltering heat summer days were known for had seeped away. The smell of Aunt Mito's famous curry had spiced up the whole house. Gon's boots were left at the door.

Ah, she was starving! This much worrying really took a lot of energy!

The kitchen and dining rooms were one and the same in Gon's house. To one side, stood the oven, stovetop, and various other kitchen appliances and cabinets, all organized in a neat L-shape. The countertops were not quite so orderly. Three chopping boards were laid out, with various vegetable ends still hanging around them. Onion and garlic skins had been left behind. A bit of the curry sauce had spilled on the wooden island countertop, near the sink. Gon smiled. It wasn't a meal unless the kitchen was a mess.

Gon moved on to her upstairs bedroom. She was covered in leaves and dirt and was quite certain Aunt Mito didn't want a sweaty, filthy niece at her dinner table.

"Wash up and come down for dinner, okay, Gon?"

"'Kay!"

Gon hopped upstairs, to her bedroom at the end of the hall, and walked to her oak closet. She picked out some things haphazardly from the hangers and headed for the bathroom. Her old clothes were abandoned in the laundry bin, her new ones placed on the sink's surrounding countertop. The water ran cold, just like she preferred, and she jumped in.

What would home look like in Seikatsu Academy? Certainly not as cozy as her living with Aunt Mito and grandmother. And yet, she couldn't wait to find out how it all turned out.

Gon slipped on her green tank top and jacket and zipped up her lime shorts. Taking a green hair tie from its place in a container of similar objects, the girl slid her hair through once, twice, thrice, until there was a tight ponytail atop her head.

With that, the now grime-free Gon ran to her favorite meal. Aunt Mito had set the plates out, though if one looked a bit past the table, they'd see the kitchen itself was still in chaos. Gon sat down, piling the food up on her plate. The woman across from her stayed silent, her eyes thoughtful, fingers drumming against maple wood.

"I found something in your room this morning, Gon," Aunt Mito said. Gon's grandmother joined them at the table, her eyes closed as she listened in on the conversation.

Gon looked up, her mouth stuffed with curry-soaked rice. "What was it?" She'd nearly forgotten the one thing that could make her Aunt look so pensive.

Aunt Mito paused for a few seconds, lips pulled into a thin line. "It was from Seikatsu Academy."

"Oh."

Aunt Mito clasped her hands together and brought them to her lips. "When did you get it?"

Gon fidgeted, making swirls in her food, feet swaying underneath the table. "A week ago, I suppose."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to," Gon insisted. "I just kept forgetting. Besides, you don't want me going away."

Mito let out a sigh. "I don't want you to go after your father, Gon, but I also don't want you telling me last minute that you're going off to Seikatsu Academy. That's halfway across the world, and I need to prepare for your departure."

"You're not going to try to stop me?" Gon asked, her voice ending on a high note. She was surprised. "But you did all you could to stop me from meeting Ging."

"Because he's an asshole," Mito said, crossing her arms, her chin tilted up in defiance. Grandmother chuckled. "But I don't think I can stop you. All I can do is make sure you do your laundry and keep eating while you're there. I'll have to buy you a cellphone this weekend."

Gon stood up, her chair nearly falling back. "Really?"

"It might not be the newest model, but it'll do," Mito said, still seemingly speaking to herself. Gon held out her little finger.

"Promise?"

Mito stared at it for a second, eyes shaking. Her face thawed, and she curled her own digit around Gon's.

"Promise to be safe?"

Gon nodded, "sure do!"

Their oath was synchronized as they spoke the words, "Pinky swear so if I lie, stick a thousand needles in my eye." Their thumbs connected. "And seal it with a kiss!"

Gon was suddenly encompassed in Mito's arms, and she was almost certain Mito was crying. Her grandmother continued to sip her tea, content with the scene before her. Outside, it had started to rain. Gon wondered what life would be like in Seikatsu Academy, and if she would really be able to find Ging by attending the same school as him. She didn't wonder if something bigger awaited her.

In the United States of Saherta, two other pieces were making steps in her direction.

. . .

Kurapika was suspicious. Leorio was less so. They'd both been accepted to Seikatsu Academy, and as usual, all good fortune was secretly a conspiracy in the eyes of his best friend.

She sat at her desk now, a neat manila folder lying atop a pile of books. Her back was tense. She was always so tense. Leorio sometimes worried she'd snap under all that pressure. Kurapika insisted she was alright. Leorio didn't believe her.

"Are you seriously thinking about turning them down?"

Kurapika's hand stiffened around her pen, and she placed it on the desk so it wouldn't break like the other ones. Outside, it had started to rain. Her hand went up to brush through blonde hair in that jittery way that told of too much stress pent up in a body that wasn't made for it.

"I don't know what I'm thinking," she said, the words coming in an exhausted drawl, her words tilting with her Kurtan accent. It hardly ever made an appearance anymore, but every now and then, she let it slip. When she was tired, or angry, or on the rare occasion that she got excited.

Leorio sat down on Kurapika's bed. Those were the only two things in Kurapika's dimly lit room. Her desk, and her bed. Her clothes and books were all neatly stacked in a tiny closet without a door, books outnumbering apparel. Their whole apartment was tiny, but both of them had been faced with worse conditions: streets, filthy motels, public parks roaming with squirrels and rats.

"Well, I'm going."

"Leorio!" She stood up, eyes flashing red.

Another day, another fight.

"If they want to use me, fine! I'll use them right back!"

"We have no idea why they want us there!" Kurapika retorted. They were both standing now, Kurapika glaring up at him with the ferocity of a giant though she was several inches shorter than him. Her Kurta training suit could've been mistaken for a normal workout outfit, but if one looked closer, as Leorio did now, they'd notice it had been stitched by hand. His hand, not Kurapika's. Kurapika didn't have the patience for that sort of thing. It had been a present.

"Do you really think the Hunter Association wants your eyes?" Leorio asked. "Why would they go to all this trouble?"

Her eyes shifted away from his face. "Why would they bother with a girl who has had no formal training nor connections?"

"Because you're fucking smart!"

"Don't take that tone with me!" she hissed back. "Besides, geniuses are no longer a rarity. What else could they want?"

Leorio rolled his eyes. "Eh, let's assume they do know about your Kurta-ness. That doesn't mean they've got bad intentions. Maybe they just want to help you out?"

"I will not be a token," Kurapika said, pivoting on her heal and walking back to her desk. Lips pursed, Leorio ruminated over his thoughts. When it came to her clan, Kurapika was immovable. She wouldn't let anyone spit on their grave, even if it was the only way to get what she wanted.

"I can't just leave you on your own," Leorio insisted.

"Why not?" Kurapika asked, writing down a few notes on a blank sheet of paper. "I'm not the same person I was when you found me. I can take care of myself."

Yeah, you're even more hellbent on revenge than before.

Leorio grimaced. He hated using this reasoning. "How else are you planning on capturing the Phantom Troupe? Without a Hunter's License from Seikatsu Academy, you'll never be able to get close to them."

Her head rested on the palms of her hands, her face obscured. She massaged her forehead. "I don't know."

. . .

There were many things Killua Zoldyck disliked. His mother, for example. She was such a nag sometimes that he couldn't hear himself think, plus her obsession with him was creepy. Electrocution and torture were pretty high up on that list as well. But without a doubt, what he hated most in the world, were rules. Not normal rules, like stopping at the red light, or recycling glass and plastics. No, what he hated were stupid rules. Rules that told him that he couldn't have friends, or that he had to kill this many people in this much time.

Essentially, what Killua Zoldyck hated most in the world was being a puppet. So the moment he could manage it, he snipped his strings, stabbed his mother in the face and his brother in the side and made a run for it. They were probably so pissed right now, Killua wished he could see their faces. It was a good thing Illumi and his father were gone that day, otherwise, he'd probably be getting whipped in the dungeon or something stupid like that.

"You want to buy all of those, young man?" the woman at the counter asked, eyeing the cart full of chocolate with her mouth open in a wide, disbelieving smile.

"Yeah," Killua said, piling the chocolate on the conveyor belt. His lollipop shifted to the side of his mouth, teeth clacking against the solid candy, lips stained orange. "Problem?"

"Aren't you, like, twelve?"

Tch, how annoying. He remembered back when kids could buy stuff without being interrogated. Then again, that was in a movie about magical teenagers so maybe it wasn't the best source of information. "I'm fourteen and rich. Can I buy my stuff already, or do you want to keep commenting on how I look?"

The woman recoiled and began bagging the many confections he'd acquired: Choco-Robos, Cream Boston Donuts, Lily Pad Chocolates, dozens of those absurdly expensive chocolate boxes because he was worth it. They were all worth around 𝔍 40,000. The stuff back in Padokea was way more expensive.

Once all his precious possessions were tucked away in brown paper bags which declared the store workers  _"The BEST Chocolatiers in the World!"_

Meh, he'd seen better. Their inventory wasn't even up to date, and their interior design was drab at best (too much grey). Reaching inside his backpack for that characteristic pink wallet, Killua took out his brother's credit card and swiped. The cashier recognized his last name, and Killua told her not to mention it as he picked up all the fifty tiny bags in his arms.

"Oh, and you should probably delete it from your records," Killua added, as he put one hand on the door. "My brother will get suspicious."

"Right," she said, still shocked.

He walked into the parking lot, where a sleek taxi waited.

"Back to the Inn, Ben."

"My name is Bill."

"Whatever."

. . .

Man, it was a pain having to go 100 miles west by car and then 50 miles north on foot. Killua didn't mind too much, but he was half-certain that all his chocolate had melted in the summer swelter. He'd placed the paper bags in a large box that Ben (Bill!) had provided, and now trekked down a country road to a small Inn. The old couple who ran the place greeted him at the 'lobby desk', also known as an old wooden desk with a wobbly leg.

"I hope those bags are biodegradable, boy," the old man yelled as Killua climbed the stairs with a hand in his pocket and a box under his arm, several of the bags peeking through.

"Sure, Gramps!"

Killua's room was upstairs. There were twenty bedrooms in the Inn and most of them were empty, save for a traveling family consisting of two rowdy kids and a tired-looking mother. He still wasn't sure what their deal was but they'd been at the Inn for two weeks according to the owners.

His room was quiet tonight. He'd bought a new laptop with some leftover cash a few days ago, but had run out pretty quick and reverted back to Illumi's card. Milluki could probably track him down easily. Three more days, no, maybe five and they'd be lining up at the door to this Inn, telling him to come home. Killua would be long-gone by then, and Illumi's card would be shred to bits (after he took out the rest of the money on it, of course). And after that, it was just a few weeks until the school year started. Seikatsu Academy had some of the best security out there, even Illumi wouldn't be able to trick the system.

The wrapper on one of his Choco-Robos came undone, and Killua chomped on the head of the robot. It smelled like freshly cut wood in his room and he'd bought the chocolates partly for that reason.

He turned on his laptop and typed 'best chocolate shops in the world' into the search engine. Killua had ventured about halfway through a list on FeedtheBuzz when something not at all chocolate-like caught his eye.

The mother from downstairs was sitting on the steps, one hand tangled in her hair, the other clutching her phone.

Eh, none of his business.

Killua turned back to the screen, finally able to see which chocolate shop had one the FeedtheBuzz competition. Kakin Empire Chocolate Emporium? Killua glanced down at the author's bio at the bottom of the page.

_Eric_

_Writer and Kakin Empire Enthusiast._

Killua closed the lid on his laptop with a flick of his index finger. He'd just have to go to all the chocolate shops around the world and make his own mind up.

Outside, the woman still sat, even as the night air made way for the climbing stars. Killua sighed, standing up and opening the window. He removed the protective netting and set it gently down on the wooden floor. He didn't want any bugs in his room, so he couldn't just destroy it.

Killua peered down at where the woman was and leaped. He landed in front of her as if he hadn't jumped at all, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders slumped forward. Behind him, there was a cornfield. He wondered if there were any serial killers hiding in there. The amateurs.

"Hey."

The woman stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes were rimmed with red.

"You okay? Your sadness is really freaking me out," he said. The woman looked at him, then back at her phone, her expression blank.

"It's nothing."

"Where're your kids?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the stone steps, whipping out a chocolate bar from his jacket pocket. "Want some."

She considered him for a minute, before taking hold of it anyway. "They're asleep. We're going home tomorrow, so they need to get there rest."

"Oh. Didn't know you were so attached to the place."

She shook her head, massaging her temple. "I'm not. I just . . ." She trailed off, but Killua picked up on the implication. It was one he'd made himself several times since he'd left home.

"You don't want to go back?" Killua asked, through a mouthful of chocolate. "How come?"

"It's . . . complicated. My husband, their father, our relationship . . . is complicated," she said, struggling for the right words. "He's a good man, I'm sure of it, but sometimes he just falls off the deep end and lashes out."

"Nah, he sounds like an idiot," Killua said. "My parents tortured me when I was a little kid and they're called good people all the time."

"That's horrible."

"I know, right? What were they thinking? No wonder I turned out all wrong," he said, shaking his head. "That's why I left. I think leaving is better than staying long enough to kill the other person."

"I would never –"

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Killua chimed in, standing up again. "But if it's not you, it's gonna be one of your kids. It's better to quit while you're ahead."

"While I'm . . . ahead?"

Half of Killua's mouth seemed to tug into a smirk, as he turned back to the woman, one foot on the last step to the door. "You've got until tomorrow, right? Take advantage of it."

"Mom!" The girl sprang outside, her black hair tied in two thick pigtails on her head. She hugged her mother, arms shaking.

"Anita," Lori asked. "What's wrong?"

"We don't want to go back," the boy said, standing behind Killua with his hands in his pockets. He was younger than his sister, and significantly shorter, though they looked identical otherwise. "And . . . we don't have to."

Killua now realized feelings would soon be unleashed, and he was too jaded for that sort of thing. He disappeared back upstairs, leaving the family to attend to their own problems.

Was he going soft or something? He'd been doing good deeds ever since he left.

 **. End of** Chapter .

 


	2. just a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little insight into Kurapika's day job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Some topics of sexuality. I headcanon this particular Kurapika to be demisexual, as in sexual attraction doesn’t occur until she builds a strong emotional connection with the person. Then again, maybe she’s more of a Chrollosexual, and vice versa).

******The Opening of the Heart**

**Chapter Two:**

**just a little**

“The cross, again?” Leorio asked. He’d been in a good mood ever since she agreed to accept her enrollment to Seikatsu Academy (she just wanted him to drop the subject at that point). This meant he was also exceptionally chatty today, crossing boundaries he wouldn’t have ordinarily. Now he stood peering over her shoulder, a mug of coffee in his hand. His face looked even more scruffy than usual, patches of scratchy stubble all over his jaw. 

Kurapika’s hand froze before it could finish drawing the last arrowhead on the end of one of the cross’ limbs. Again. Why couldn’t the image leave her? What did it mean? Why couldn’t she remember it? 

She erased the cross with the butt of the pencil. “It’s nothing.”

“You know, it does look sort of familiar,” Leorio said. “Maybe you saw it in one of those books.” 

Kurapika shook her head. “It was back in the Kurta Village. I’m sure of it. I just can’t remember.” It scared her a bit. First, she couldn’t remember where she’d seen the cross. Next, she’d start forgetting the names of the other Kurtas. Kurapika knew she was destined to forget them. It was scientifically proven that all people forget their lost loved ones eventually. Her mother’s face had grown blurry, her eyes bloody. 

But she could remember the cross itself in stark detail. Black spades on each limb, a diamond in the center, a wistful feeling in her chest. There were a lot of feelings, but not much clarity. It irritated her tremendously. 

“Weird,” Leorio muttered. “Well, whatever. What do you want for dinner?” 

“Carbonara,” she replied, hardly present, the memory of her parents’ carbonara racing through her mind. It seemed she was reminiscing more than usual.

“No offense, but I don’t really trust any of the joints here to have eggs not contaminated with salmonella,” Leorio grumbled. “I’m buying pizza, and you’re going to eat it whether you like it or not.”

“Just don’t buy it from Pizza Hub.”

“Their pizza is great!” Leorio defended. “My buddy runs it.”

“Their pizzas taste like cardboard layered with too much cheese. The type from a can. I don’t give a damn that your friend runs the place, he should change his recipe.”

Leorio pouted now, a childish expression on his aged face. “You’re cruel, you know that?” 

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Kurapika said. “Though,” Leorio perked up at what seemed like the beginning of an exception. A rare moment in which Kurapika admitted he might have a point, “I suppose it’s a matter of personal preference, and if you wish to eat cardboard, who am I to stop you. Besides, I have a job at seven. I’ll get something then.”

His hand came up to scratch the back of his neck, as if wondering how to get over the minefield that was her life choices. “I didn’t know you had a job tonight.”

“Keeter Dan. The Pillsbury CEO.”

“He sounds like a serial killer,” Leorio muttered. 

“A womanizer, too,” Kurapika sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to that detail. At least she knew the bartender who worked there. 

Leorio blustered at the fact, his hands gripping the side of her desk. “What? No way–am I–you shouldn’t have to–is that even–and like, what if it goes wrong?”

“Leorio.” She slipped her hand over his tense, fisted one. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m a far better fighter than you could ever hope to be.” 

“Can you stop trying to reassure me by tearing down my self-esteem, it’s really starting to hurt.”

“I complimented you last week. That should suffice.” She was only teasing – a form of stress relief, though it seemed to aggravate Leorio a fair amount. Perhaps, that was part of the fun. He grumbled a bit and announced he’d get pizza and breadsticks from The Garden Place, and that she would eat before going to the ‘sleazy bar to meet with some sicko CEO’. Bars meant alcohol would be involved, and going on an empty stomach was a recipe for disaster even with her absurd level of tolerance. Kurapika rolled her eyes but begrudgingly agreed. The Garden Place wasn’t quite as terrible as Pizza Hub.

. . .

They ate dinner amidst Leorio’s tireless chattering and Kurapika’s scant comments. Leorio told her he’d make dinner himself tomorrow, and Kurapika made a mental note to postpone that impending disaster. Leorio was many things, but a great cook he was not. 

The clock ticked closer to seven, and Kurapika watched Leorio scarf down the last piece of olive-topped pizza. She had asked for the olives. Leorio preferred pepperoni but he knew she couldn’t handle even the mildest of spicy food.

At 6:30, Kurapika opened the sliding door to her tiny closet. Her clothes consisted mostly of sweatpants and t-shirts. In a corner, her traditional Kurtan tabard, skirt, and undergarments had been neatly folded. She hardly wore it anymore. 

Her suits hung on a wooden bar, almost a foot long. There were three of them, each one washed in black, with a crisp white button-up blouse underneath. She chose the one with the longest pencil skirt and got out a pair of matching court shoes. They were too hot for a summer night, but she figured the bar would be cool enough for business casual attire. Her hair was left to fall in waves down her back. 

Nothing in the way of makeup littered her desk. A long time ago, Kurapika had realized her patience for such things was less than admirable, and that she had nothing but respect for those who spent hours slaving away over their faces. 

She double-checked the contents of her bag: A pocket knife, the documents, and her wallet all gathered haphazardly at the faux leather bottom. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she exited the room.

“You always look scary in those clothes,” Leorio offered, lightly, as she walked back into the kitchen. The heels of her court shoes clicked against the tiled travertine floors. Leorio sat at the round wooden table, looking thirty years older with a newspaper in his hands.

“That’s the point,” Kurapika said, pushing the door open. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

“I’m calling the police if you’re not.” 

“Don’t call the police.” 

“Fine.”

She shut the door behind her, just in time to hear Leorio mutter:

“I’m definitely calling the cops, idiot.” 

Kurapika adjusted her collar, the slip of a smile skidding across her face and vanishing as she continued on her way. There were two ways to get to the ground floor from their apartment: the elevator or the stairs. The stairs had been carved out of cement blocks and always smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and gasoline, but were otherwise safe. Across from their apartment was the elevator–an old rusting contraption that screeched even when it wasn’t moving and sometimes decided not to open too. Kurapika took the concrete, since, while the smell was unfortunate, it had yet to make her late to a meeting.

There were no windows on the staircase, just a few scattered light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They spasmed, glowing in and out of existence, for all seven flights of stairs. Buildings on this side of Yorknew were tall, dreary things meant to suck the life out of its downtrodden tenants. The place they got was one of the better ones, made possible only by the information brokering Kurapika took part in from time to time. Her cases brought in only  **𝔍** 400,000 a year. That, combined with the work Leorio put in at the local clinic, they made about  **𝔍** 550,000 a year. They spent  **𝔍** 30,000 a month on housing alone, and got by on cheap food and stale coffee most days. To make any real profit in this city you either had to work for the mafia or be a Hunter. 

She pushed open the garish red door leading to the ground floor. It would be nice to never have to see this city again.

This floor was almost always empty, save for a few people smoking on the steps outside and the occasional passerby on their way to and from work. Today, a woman sat there, her thin black hair flapping in the wind like the strands of a spider’s web. In one hand, she held a cigarette close to her ear. There was a pallor to her skin, and with her gaunt form and jutting bones, the woman looked like she might break under the wind’s waves at any moment. 

They were a common sight in Yorknew, around every corner, at every bus stop. In search of shelter, or at least some shade–the prey of the Mafia. Probably another D2 addict. The drug had taken over the world in record time, and no one knew what it did precisely. They just know what it looked like, and how they looked like–shells. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any money, Miss?” the woman asked. 

“I’m afraid not,” Kurapika said, continuing down the street, wondering if the woman would take a hint and leave the premises. If Leorio ran into a beggar he’d spend the rest of his week’s earnings on her. Offering the homeless shelter and food was fine and all, but they couldn’t afford to give out charity when they themselves were on the brink of poverty. A sigh broke through her lips. Sometimes being around a person as compassionate as Leorio was aggravating. Her eyes roamed across the city, making sure not to maintain eye contact with anyone for more than a few seconds.

There was a wind coming off the sea tonight, Kurapika noted, as she passed a string of coffee shops. The waves in her hair had already tussled into disarray. Cutting them would be optimal. After about three years of being relatively untouched (save for her bangs, which Leorio cut for her), her sunflower tresses nearly reached the small of her back, and though they were never particularly high maintenance, battles were best fought when there wasn’t a foot of hair weighing you down. Ah, but that would come later. Right now, they didn’t have money to waste on her vanity. 

Trees were sorely missed on the poor side of Yorknew, replaced by the narrow cement sidewalks and whirring roads of asphalt. It never quieted down. Kurapika suspected the Elder would find this place an abomination if he were here. He would’ve said something along the lines of, “See, Kurapika? This is why we stay in our village. The sin of mankind never rests.” She pursed her lips, remembering her last encounter with the old man, all their fights, all of his attempts to shield her from the world. Now the world was all she had.

Kurapika turned her head up to a slate-colored ceiling, as it shifted and caved in on itself. It rained a lot in Yorknew. That hadn’t changed. 

She hurried ahead of the rain until the bar came into view.  Hazy golden light slipped through the glass. Kurapika caught sight of a couple in the second-floor windows, kissing so fervently Kurapika worried one of them might fall to the pavement below. The building itself was a dreary looking thing with two floors and walls the color of tree bark after rain, inside and out. Past the green door, the air smelled like a vile mixture of vomit, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. Perhaps a hint of cheap perfume thrown in for good measure.

Keeter Dan sat on one of the stools at the counter, chatting up one of the bartenders: A dark-skinned young man Leorio drank with every now and then. He didn’t seem amused, though it wasn’t discomfort written on his face. Her client was dressed in a black waistcoat and trousers. The white sleeves of a button-up were rolled up to his elbows. When he turned to look at her, a striking, easy smile made its way onto his chiseled face. His hair, a deep purple, had been let out of the gel he usually sported in his pictures, now framing his face in curls. Some may have called him handsome, but Kurapika found out long ago that she didn’t seem to operate on the same definitions of attractiveness. She’d never met a man or woman she’d deem attractive. Perhaps she was just vain, her standards too high, but she felt it was more than that. 

“You’re even more beautiful in person, Miss Kurapika,” the man said, gesturing to the seat beside him. Kurapika sat down on the edge of the stool, keeping an appropriate distance. “Come, let’s get acquainted before falling into the dreary business talk. A drink for the lovely lady, Mikhal.”

“Water’s fine,” Kurapika interjected. Mikhal gave her a curt nod, though he kept his eyes on Keeter Dan. He was worried about her. Leorio must be rubbing off on him. 

“Coy.”

“Uninterested,” she amended, the palm of her hand moving up to support her chin. “Believe me, dreary business talk is all I’m here for.” 

Keeter Dan let loose a bright laugh. “Straight to the point, I see. What do you have for me, then?”

She tugged her bag off her shoulder and took out the file. “You were right in assuming that Kris Enterprise is planning to cut ties with you, though if you’d wanted to avoid it so much you probably shouldn’t have slept with the CEO’s daughter.” 

“What can I say,” the man said, mournfully. “I am but a victim amidst the throes of passion.” 

More like the throes of his sex drive and a lack of self-control. 

“Prisma Co. wants to pair up on a new product.”

“What’s the product?” 

“From what I’ve gathered: A new type of perfume. They wish to create a bottle which changes the strength of the scent depending on the person’s personal preference,” Kurapika drawled on in her business monotone. 

“Sounds useless, I like it!” 

“As for your childhood sweetheart, she’s married with two kids now.” 

“Does she look very in love.” 

“She looks very over you,” Kurapika replied, nearly rolling her eyes at his downcast look. If he blames that woman on his current behavior she would most definitely knock his teeth out. Those girls didn’t deserve to be toyed with, and that woman didn’t deserve to be the reason for it. 

He glanced at her file, catching sight of the woman, his childhood sweetheart.

“I miss her sometimes, to the point that I can barely breathe,” he sighed, gazing at the scrawny redhead longingly. Kurapika zoned out for the remainder of his talk, and wondered if this would be a good time to tell him that psychotherapy was, in fact, not in her job description, nor was she particularly good at it.

“Catelyn Persucio is also trying to kill you. According to her web history, she’s gone into the black market searching for a hitman,” Kurapika continued, when the tears subsided a bit. “Anything else you’d like to know?” 

“Are you single?” 

“I consider myself married to my work.”

“They all say that.”

“Take one more centimeter in the direction of my person and I will slit your throat.” 

He gave her a grin at first, certain she was joking, but she was not and his smile quickly vanished into a look of disbelief. 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Are you always this intimidating?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s not very attractive.”

Kurapika flipped through the file. “With all due respect, the last thing I want to do is foster some sort of attraction from a man like you.” 

“Are you fearful of the heights of my passion?”

“There is only one thing I fear in this world and that is most definitely not your libido.” She stood up. “That’s all I’ve got. Wire me the check.” 

“Brokers. You’re all about the money,” he scoffed. “How about I add in 20,000 **𝔍** for a date?”

“I’ll take the 5,000.” Kurapika tossed him the file. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore. The water Mikhal had prepared for her had begun to perspire, dripping down onto the floor like a marathon runner in summer. She left it there.

**. End of Chapter .**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1) So, I’m delving a bit more into Kurapika’s life prior to Seikatsu Academy. All in all, I want to dive into everyone’s backstories. Might even make a Kurapika prequel at some point.
> 
> 2) No Gon this chapter. I’m trying to keep the chapters a bit shorter because it gets overwhelming when you have to read 36 6,000 word chapters.  
> 3) That being said, Gon will appear next chapter, probably with a side of Killua.  
> 4) The Academy side of things won’t be for another 2-3 chapters, probably.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Alrighty, don't read the one on FF.net because I changed a lot of stuff. This can almost be called a different fic but I don't actually want to call it a different fic so lol.


End file.
